


An Intimacy

by Anonymous



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Implied Smut, M/M, Slow Build, Travel, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It feels like Shion is always learning, and Nezumi is always teaching. But not everything requires such a process.This is half of a year, in a series of snapshots.
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Kudos: 51
Collections: Anonymous, Yuletide 2020





	An Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AislinCeivun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinCeivun/gifts).



> _"I'd like a reunion or post-reunion future fic. I generally love angst and H/C, but since NezuShi is a sad ship already, I'd prefer that - even if the fic starts sad - it builds up to warmth, fluff and happy feels. That's all my requirement, really: that the boys end up/are happy and together again."_
> 
> This fic takes place some time in the future; they've reunited and now they're taking a trip, and things happen--both mundane and major, depending on if you ask Nezumi or Shion. There's some fluff, some angst, and a lot of panicking from Shion because he's really trying. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_ Month 1 _

His first time sleeping under the stars, it’s both quiet and loud; quiet because there’s no cars, no planes, no voices, and loud because of the cicadas and his own breathing. A root or rock underneath digs into his hip. He wriggles closer to Nezumi, trying to get comfortable, but just as finds a good position, something else pokes his ribs.

“I warned you.” Nezumi rolls over, amusement in his voice. “And it’s just the first night.”

Shion digs out a rock and tosses it away. “I’ll get used to it.” In fact, this should be the easiest thing. “I don’t have any choices, do I?” If he’s going to make it out here, of course he will.

He expects Nezumi to laugh, but instead he finds himself getting tugged, until his head rests on Nezumi’s chest. A hand strokes through his hair.

“Tell me what you hear.”

“…nature?”

“Is that all?”

“Atoms…?”

Something pinches his ear. “It’s quite simple, Shion.”

He’s ready to retort, but instead closes his mouth. At first it’s just the insects, like he did. Maybe some leaves rustling form animals. But then he’s aware of it: a rythmic sound.

“Your heart.”

“That’s right.” Nezumi continues stroking his hair. “So just focus on that. You’ll forget everything else.”

Is that how this works? He tries.

The buzzing fades, and so do the rocks. He listens, until there is no more.

**.**

It turns out cooking over a campfire is very different from cooking over a stove, or even an indoor fire. There’s wind, there’s the dampness of the wood, and other factors. While he managed to start it without help, he’s still trying to figure out exactly why the water isn’t boiling.

“Shion, the genius and hero of No.6, who can’t even boil water.” Nezumi is gathering more wood.

Half-heartedly, he tosses a towel at Nezumi. “This worked fine before.” Over a stove, he means. “Is it the fire? Is it the wood? The _pot?_ ”

“Relax. I’ll show you again.”

Shion pays attention—mostly; he's been distracted by Neuzmi’s hands.

**.**

One morning, he wakes up to singing. Nezumi, sitting on a rock, eyes closed. His voice is richer than the colours of the sunrise slowly spreading behind him. Curled in his blanket, Shion watches him, and the way his hair is loose around his shoulders and the perfect posture he holds.

When Nezumi finishes, he stretches his hands up over head before looking at Shion. “Good morning,” he says.

“Morning,” Shion responds, suddenly tongue-tied. “I didn’t know that you still sang.”

“Any reason why you thought I stopped.”

“No, but...why do you?”

An odd expression, there and then gone. Nezumi looks away. “To remember.”

Silence.

Shion pulls his blanket off. “I’ll start breakfast.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

**.**

Fishing provides tricky, when it’s not the conventional type that he’s used to. At least he’s got a hook on a string and he doesn’t have to struggle with his hands or some sharpened stick, but there’s a fresh anxiety to this whole process of shivering in a river while waiting.

“Need help?”

“No, I’m good.” Shion blows his bangs out of his face, and tries to concentrate. Mosquitoes tease him, and the sun is trying to cook his skin, but he’ll catch this damn fish—fishes. Nezumi’s already caught two, and tossed the smaller one back.

A gleam of silver has him nearly jumping, but he watches as the fish circles his bait, prods it, and finally takes a bite. He accidentally pulls too fast; the fish jerks once, twice, and the hook snaps.

Nezumi laughs while Shion stomps back to shore. “Are you sure you don’t need help.”

“I’m _sure_.”

He’s not sure of anything, actually.

**.**

Sex outside is interesting. One moment, they’re doing laundry, and the next, they’re in a pile of leaves and Nezumi is straddling him and pulling his clothes askew.

“Nezumi—” The leaves tickle his neck and waist. Nezumi is taking his own shirt off, and in the daylight, he is striking and as beautiful as ever. “Wait.”

He gets a raised eyebrow in return. Shion shuffles awkwardly, and yanks his shirt so that it’s underneath. “So we don’t get bitten.”

Nezumi snorts. “Shion, there’s things worse than a few bug bites.”

“Like snakes?”

“Like this.” Nezumi sucks the side of his neck, and there’s a sting of his teeth that makes Shion jump. “Much worse.”

“You’re just taking the advantage to mark me up because no one can see.”

“Maybe.” A hand slips lower and grips; he shudders. “And no one can hear you.”

That’s a fair point.

_ Month 2 _

Days become weeks. He cuts his own hair (which some touchups by Nezumi), can identify plants and animals, can throw a knife with some accuracy after painstaking practice, and cooks without burning anything. His feet have stopped hurting after long periods of walking, and he finally sleeps without feeling every rock under the sun.

Quite the progress. But it’s never enough; he thought he knew all the constellations, but Nezumi knows the difference in bird songs and can coax them to him with his voice. They’ve done some recitation, but it’s still clear whom is the better one at it.

And then his shoe just _tears_. Now he’s trying to sew it back, roughly jabbing a needle between the tip and the sole. He’s already poked his finger.

Surprisingly, Nezumi says nothing about this. He’s sharpening his knife while Shion struggles with his needle.

“I thought you’d be telling me how badly I did.”

“Why would I? A shoe’s a shoe, and if you wear it out, is that really your fault?”

“I thought you’d say how clumsy I was.”

“If you fell off a cliff and broke your shoe, maybe.”

“Oh.” Shion pricks his finger again, and he sticks it in his mouth, coppery blood on his tongue. “Nezumi, after we first met…how long did it take for you figure things out?”

Asking Nezumi any personal question is like a coin toss; either he answers, or deflects.

“A few months. I didn’t exactly grow up in some city, so there was plenty I already knew.” Blade sharpened, he’s now adding oil. “Of course, it wasn’t easy.”

“Being alone?”

“Being, actually.”

Shion tilts his head.

“When you lose everything, you have to start over. I thought about living in one place. I thought about going back immediately.” The switchblade clicks back into place, before Nezumi slides it back into his boot. “I thought about eating some poisonous plants and re-enabling the chip so they’d find me, the last of my people, dead.”

“What stopped you?”

Nezumi looks at him. “What do you think?”

Flustered, he goes back to repairing his stupid shoe. “I’m glad you didn’t.” What an insignificant thing to say. But he means it.

“So am I.” Nezumi’s voice is soft.

**.**

The inevitable happens.

He gets a horrid sunburn on his neck and face, and it hurts. It stings and feels like his skin is trying to crawl away from him, so bad that he lies awake at night, trying to not touch, trying to not move.

Will he take mosquitoes over this or not? Hard to say, but right now he fucking wishes he doesn’t have any skin at all.

Cool fabric touches his cheek, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Nezumi,” he says, through dry lips.

“Yes?”

“Can you do something.”

“I can’t take revenge for you against the sun, but go ahead.”

“Just. Something. So I don’t think.” He waves a hand. “Anything.”

And so Nezumi hums. A familiar melody, from a familiar person. He finishes, and then repeats the melody, over and over. It helps, along with the cold on his skin. He floats, in between awareness and sleep, Nezumi’s voice a better caress than any hands.

**.**

Evening and mornings are colder now. Nezumi brings up the fact they should do rounds for sleeping, if they’re going to keep a fire going throughout the night.

“Is there anyone out here?”

“You’d never know. But also, it’s a fire hazard.”

The first night, they draw straws, and Shion loses out. He does first watch, which will last four hours. It’s not so bad at first; he watches Nezumi sleep, while he tries to read a book (they only had three between them), occasionally checking on the fire. Then he starts nodding off, the words on the pages swimming. His watch says he’s just under two hours, and he thinks about making some coffee. But then he might not be able to sleep tomorrow, or maybe it won’t do a thing for him.

Shion stares at the flames, and imagines shadows flickering between them, of shapes and figures. It almost looked like dancing, like a theatre performance—

A hand grasps his shoulder, and he nearly shouts.

It’s only Nezumi.

“…I fell asleep.”

“Yup.”

Much to his shame, it keeps happening that week.

**.**

“Shion.”

“No, I won’t talk about it anymore.”

“But _Shion_.”

“No!”

“You really, honestly, truly, have never climbed a tree?”

“My mother was afraid I’d break something, and there weren’t many trees in No.6 that people were allowed to climb.”

“Not even in that park you were working in?”

“…we had robots.”

“Amazing.”

“Are we done here?”

“Oh no. I’m going to teach you to climb a tree.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. Get over here.”

**.**

There’s the sense he gets that he’s quite the failure still, despite the years. When he enacts conversations in his mind, he always sounds so confident and self-assured. He thinks about Nezumi being impressed, complimenting him for his skills—

Reality is, of course. Not the case. Nezumi doesn’t even have to comment on everything. Sometimes he just shows Shion a thing, and in the process Shion finds out, once again he’s bad at something. Maybe he’s got bad luck with nature, but at least Nezumi is willing to help.

“I’m not dead weight, am I?”

“You’re the one saying it.”

“But you’re thinking it, aren’t you.”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow at him.

“Look. It’s obvious I’m not cut out for this.”

“Well, it depends on whether or not you want to continue, or if you want to go back.”

“…I want to stay with you.”

“Continuing it is.” Nezumi picks up a stick, and hands it to Shion. “Carve something.”

“…what?”

“It helps with coordination.”

He's right.

_ Month 3 _

The trees are less daunting now, and walking is second nature. He’s noticed the difference, when they jump in a lake, and he can keep up with Nezumi swimming, not gasping for air immediately.

A glance at his reflection says a lot, too.

“Admiring yourself?”

Shion shrugs. “Just observing. I’m changing, after all.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” He honestly does. He feels alive, and standing naked in a lake is thrilling. “Do you?”

“Why are you always asking me to look at you naked.”

“Don’t you do that even without me asking?”

Nezumi rolls his eyes, but he does look at Shion, up and down, and then up again, slowly. He cups Shion’s cheek in his fingers, water clinging dripping off the both of them.

“Yes,” he says, before he drop-kicks Shion and they both go flying into the water.

**.**

An encounter with some coyotes left him unnerved. He thought they had been wolves, but Nezumi said they were too small. Still, it had been a long moment of waving hastily made torches, shouting, and throwing rocks, before they decided to take to the trees.

Which is how they have to stay, listening to the whines and keens underneath them.

He’s grumpy. Very grumpy. This is some ruined sleep, meaning tomorrow will be less progress made.

Somehow, Nezumi’s fallen asleep, head tipped to one side. Unafraid. 

But maybe it’s because of that, Shion’s not worried. Tense, but no less tense than say after experiencing a nightmare.

Once again, he’s reminded their differences.

**.**

“We’re not having sex up in this tree.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’ve never done it before.”

“Again, what makes you so sure?”

“Because it’s _stupid._ I cannot believe you are suggesting it.”

“I jest, Shion. I was playing with you.”

“…for that, I’m not sleeping with you for the rest of the week.”

“How about I make dinner the rest of the week.”

“ _Fine_.”

**.**

“Shion, can you hold still.”

Well, he already wasn’t moving much; he had been staring into space. “…why?”

“I’m going to draw you.”

Huh. “I didn't know you drew.”

“I don’t. But that’s not stopping me.”

Other questions come to mind. But he does as he’s told. He keeps his head up as he looks across the clearing of trees, at the movement of leaves and branches. He hears scribbling, the sound of papers, and Nezumi humming inaudibly. An ant crawls over his hand, and he flicks it away.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

A good half hour passes, before Nezumi lets him go.

The drawing is actually quite good.

It’s yet another talent that Shion wishes he had.

**.**

Some thoughts come and go. Other thoughts stay. This one has been around since almost the beginning, and Shion can’t deny it anymore.

“I want to braid your hair,” he finally blurts out one evening. “Can I?”

Nezumi is actually taken aback, for once. “You know how to braid?”

“My mother taught me. And I…” he swallows. “I did it for Safu. A few times.”

“Ah.”

Neither of them move at first. Then, Nezumi shifts his position. “I’ll brush it out first.”

It’s not that he hasn’t seen Nezumi brushing his hair, but that he’s mesmerised. Smooth strokes, one after another. Beautiful and slow, until even in firelight, it’s gleaming.

Shion braids slowly, the strands silky in his fingers. He’s grabbed Nezumi’s hair before, and even yanked it hard. He’s seen it in all his states. But twisting, parting, and pulling them into place is different. It’s also gotten long, and the brain extends almost to his waist.

He finishes, and lays it over Nezumi’s shoulder, and he finds he can’t say anything. Safu didn't have hair like this, but it was same shade, and the same sheen. He should really say something, but instead, he ends up hugging him from behind, silent.

Thankfully, so is Nezumi. He merely reaches for Shion's hand, and they stay like that.

_ Month 4 _

Somewhere between his third or fourth week, he started writing. Thoughts, quotes, things Nezumi said, their conversations. And eventually—about the past.

“Shion. Hey, Shion.” Nezumi nudges his shoulder. “Take a break.”

“Oh.” His neck is certainly aching. “I was…focused?”

“It’s been a few hours. What’s got you so enthralled?”

Shion shows him. “I was writing about the first time we met.”

Nezumi leans over. For a moment, he wonders if Nezumi wll disapprove. But all Nezumi does is point at a certain part. “You were so weird already back then.”

“For wanting to stop you from bleeding?”

“No, when you got excited about treating me. Normal kinds don’t do that.”

Shion laughs. “I never said I was normal.”

“That’s true.” Nezumi turns a few pages. “My encounter wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t open your door in the middle of a storm.”

“Where would you have gone?”

“Oh, likely the threatening route to get my way.” He says this so casually, but Shion knows he isn’t joking. “Maybe take a hostage or two or guarantee my freedom.”

“Would that really have worked.”

“Of course not.”

And he might’ve died there, and they would never have met, and Shion would likely be in some program…and Safu might’ve been alive. Would they have really had sex? Or would they just be friends?

He looks at his own words, at their shared history. Despite what happened afterward, despite the other things that happened, what was lost...what was gained, was so precious that he couldn't have it any other way.

**.**

“Nezumi.”

“You’re going to ask me to teach you something, aren’t you.”

“You can tell?”

“By the way you say my name, yes. So what is it?”

“Recitation.”

“Hm. Elaborate.”

“The way you perform. You do something with your voice, or maybe your actions—but there’s presence. How do you do that?”

“Do you want the short answer or the long answer, or do you just want a free show.”

“Not if I bang you?”

“…how bold. I’ll consider it.”

**.**

They reach a town—or is it village? In any case, there’s people, buildings—civilisation. The guards know Nezumi, and let him in with a wave.

“Do you perform here?” Shion had asked.

“Sometimes.” Nezumi had replied, without elaboration.

They stay at an inn, and it’s his first real bath that isn’t a lake or river, and he nearly falls asleep in there; Nezumi splashes him before hauling him out.

“Did you make it here only to drown?”

“But I was comfortable.”

Nezumi tosses a shirt at him. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“On a date…?”

“Well, if you want to call it that.”

It’s actually less of a date and more of a long stroll through the streets (a tour), but they did hold hands at one point, which Shion considers points towards a date.

**.**

Shion calls his mother, and they talk—for a while. He tells her he’s sending all his letters, and that he’s doing well. She fills him in on the comings and goings of Inukashi, how much Shionn has grown, her business, and some other trivial things about the neighbours, and also some city updates.

It feels like a whole different world.

When he hangs up in the town phone, and goes wandering he ends up in a bakery and buys a bagful of pastries.

“You’re homesick?” Nezumi says, when he comes back, arms laden.

“I don’t think I’m homesick,” he starts.

 _‘My home is with you,’_ is what he wants to continue, but he can’t. Instead, he smiles and offers Nezumi a chocolate croissant. “I’m just suddenly reminded of how long I’ve had baked goods.”

“Don’t go soft on me.”

“I’m not that weak!” To prove his point, he pushes up his sleeve. “I’m close to beating you.”

“Sure, sure.” Nezumi sets aside the bit of wood he’d been chipping away at. “Want to do more than flash your arm at me?”

**.**

Confession: he has quite the sum of money on him. He didn’t exactly go out of his way to hide it from Nezumi, but neither did he mention it. In fact, he didn’t expect to really use it—

Until a week before they’re to leave, he comes across a metalsmith; seeing the display gave him ideas, and before he could regret it, he went in.

A conversation occurs.

Three days later, he walks out with a purchase, and while Nezumi is out on a final performance (Shion excused himself by saying he wanted to write), sews it into the lining of his coat.

Some dreams remained dreams, but others became hopes, and if his experiences have taught him anything, it’s that being impulsive isn’t always bad.

Future him will be grateful. Maybe.

_ Month 5 _

He has never realised autumn could be this beautiful. No. 6 wasn’t barren of trees or nature, but by the time he left it, Shion’s known every single plant there is, because it was all created with the purpose of habitation, aesthetic, and health. The variety was limited, boring even.

But not out here. Splashes of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows, and gradient in-betweens. The massive amount of leaves to jump or run through, or the fascination of watching leaves being carried away in a whirlwind. The rain that did nothing to dim the colours.

Nezumi strings up a bunch of them with some twigs and places it on his head. “What do you think?”

Shion reaches out to tug his hair loose from his hairtie. “I think I should be the one saying ‘Your Majesty,’ if you kept this up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I made you one, too.” And seemingly out of nowhere, Nezumi pulls out another leaf crown and sticks it on his head.

Something about it makes his heart do odd flips, but he turns away and pretends to be adjusting the crown while trying to laugh.

“You like surprises, huh.”

“Well, I do have a fondness for surprising you and catching you off-guards.”

“Why?”

Nezumi plucks a leaf free from his crown. “Call it habit, or maybe I just seeing your face when you try to respond. See, you’re making it now.”

“Why don’t you just say you like it when I’m vulnerable?”

That slips out. Accidentally. Nezumi looks at Shion until Shion is ready to just walk away, but Nezumi throws his head back and laughs. “Those are your words, not mine.”

But is he wrong?

**.**

“From your chest, not your throat.”

“I’m _trying_.”

“Every time you get nervous, you freeze.”

“But I’m thinking about all the times I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Don’t think, _do_.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course not. But you’re getting there.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel free, are you.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“…true. Let’s try again. From the beginning of the third paragraph.”

**.**

Sometimes, they run into other travelers. They make polite talk, they sometimes share meals…but they never spend a night together.

“You can never know,” is what Nezumi tells him, when Shion asks. “The niceties can always be faked.”

He has a point, that it’s an unspoken rule out here. Nezumi doesn’t talk about it much, but given that he survived this long, he speaks from experience. It’s not exactly every man out for themselves while in the wild, but it’s close.

Other times, there’s caravans, which Nezumi also avoids. “If the whole group turns on you, you’re done for.”

“You really don’t trust easily.”

“Of course not.”

“But you trusted me.”

Nezumi tugs at his hair. “You do realise that you’re not capable such malicious intent.”

“…I guess not.”

**.**

Misfortune hits in late November; he gets sick with a cold, and it feels awful. They found shelter in a cave, have some medication, but he’s still miserable and feverish.

“You’re going to drink this water, take this pill, and then I’ll let you sleep.”

“I…can’t swallow,” he whispers, flinging his arm over his eyes.

Nezumi, however, is pulling him up. “We’ve done this before, and I’ll do it again.” A finger taps against his cheek. “Open your mouth.”

Shion finally does, slowly. It hurts, but the water is cool and goes down easily; he barely feels the pill, and eventually, it’s all gone.

“There.” Nezumi lays him back down, blanket tucked up to his chin. “Now you can sleep.”

“But, will you—” he coughs. Stupid cold. “Will you—”

Nezumi brushes sweaty bangs out of Shion’s eyes. “Yes.”

It’s not that Nezumi doesn’t sing while they travel. It’s that he doesn’t sing specifically for many people, not even to Shion. But the last few days, he always has, softly and steadily, until Shion falls asleep, his hand tightly grasping Nezumi’s.

“Honestly, what am I going to do with you,” he hears Nezumi say. “You’re still a handful, but…I suppose that I’m used to it.”

Much later, once he’s better, he does make it up for this.

“I give you so much trouble.” They’re lying under the same blanket; Nezumi has his feet tucked between Shion’s knees, toes chilly against his skin.

“What’s life is not without some trouble. This is just the way things are.”

Shion shakes his head. “No, I mean…I’m not being burdensome, am I?”

“No. You’re Shion.”

Sometimes Nezumi is so direct that it feels roundabout, and other times his answers are so vague Shion can’t exactly tell what he means, and this is one those cases.

**.**

They make it into another town, where Nezumi says they’ll stay for the rest of winter. And it’s not too soon; snow falls that night.

He wakes up before sunrise because the brightness has seeped into the tiny room they’ve rented. Without too much thought, Shion slips on his jacket and goes out; footsteps crunchy on the fallen snow. The sky is an indeterminate grey, but that’s precisely what he waits.

The sun does rise, slowly, painting the snow in pink, orange, and yellow. He watches, occasionally shifting his feet, until the rest of town begins waking up as well, and he goes back in.

Nezumi is still in bed, but he stirs when Shion climbs back in, after stripping out of his frozen clothes. “You’re bringing the cold with you.”

“Sorry.”

“Come here.” A hand pokes out of the blankets and smacks him lightly.

He’s already ‘here,’ but he understands what Nezumi wants: for him to squeeze into the bed as close as possible, their bodies curled into each other.

“You really have a thing for the weather.”

Shion laughs. “Extreme weather.”

“This isn’t even a blizzard.” Nezumi mumbles, eyes closed, but he'd be rolling them if they were open.

“I saw the sunrise.”

“It never gets old, does it.”

“Never.”

Nezumi opens one eye. “Wake me up next time.”

“Okay.”

They end up staying in bed until past noon.

_ Month 6 _

“Nezumi, are we dating?”

Unsurprisingly, Nezumi isn’t perturbed by this question. He’s listening to the radio, actually. “Some might qualify our interrelation as such.”

“…Relationship, you mean.”

“It could be that.”

Shion nearly smacks himself, but he withholds the action. “Well, what would you call it?”

“The correlation between two people?”

“We’re sleeping _together_.” Literally last night, even.

Static crackles loudly; then it shuts off. Nezumi is now looking at Shion. “Do you really need a word for this?”

“Some things require words, or else they’re suspended in uncertainty.” Okay, he might’ve practised saying that. He’s been thinking about this—them—for a while, after all. “It’s something I’d like to resolve.”

“Why?”

“Because you mean a lot to me, and sometimes I feel like I understand you completely, but other times—” he gestures. “Like this. Sometimes you’re so _ambiguous_. Is it me? Am I just another…another factor in your life?”

Nezumi’s head tilts to one side, and Shion nearly expect him to recite.

“Shion, I think we’re past the period of dating.”

“…how so?”

“I think our experiences say enough about that.” Nezumi crosses the room, and Shion is reminded he still has to raise his eyes slightly. “You and I, we did things no one else has.”

“But anyone could’ve.”

“That’s where you wrong. It couldn’t be just anyone.”

Shion touches his hand to the scar on his neck. “So, what are we? Boyfriends?”

“How about you try the word ‘soulmate’, then.” Nezumi kisses him on the cheek. Before Shion can say anything, he’s moving away, saying something about a performance.

“I—wait, Nezumi, you can’t just say that and leave!” He tries to catch Nezumi’s hand. “Nezumi!”

He easily ducks, and kisses Shion again, but a real one this time, full and deep.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Ah…I—yes.”

Mostly, anyway.

**.**

They both carry out an assortment of jobs, with varying hours and pays. One week he did a lot of cleaning, and then some copywriting, and even some babysitting. His latest job is in a library, which he hopes he can keep longer. It’s nostalgic, being amoung the musty, inky smell of books.

It’s also familiar to carry a whole armload of them back to their room. Nezumi now sleeps in late, because his performances are mostly at night. He’s half-awake when Shion comes back, brushing his hair out while he recites poetry.

“Want to switch?”

“Jobs? No, I think I’d make the audience cry.” He’s already tossed aside his shoes and socks, while Nezumi is putting his on. “They wouldn’t want to see me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re improving.”

“I am?”

“Of course. That’s a natural progression.”

“Unless I’ve peaked.”

“No, you have too much potential.” Nezumi twists his hair up, pinning it in place. “In fact, I might have suggested that you join me one of these nights.”

Thank goodness he’s already set down all the books. “Wait—what do you mean?”

“A duo, Shion. You’ve heard of those.”

“Yes, I have, but…me?”

“Mhm, you.”

“Me, up there…with you?”

“Is there any other person you perform with?”

“No, but I—” He’s sitting down.

“Only if you want to, Shion.” Nezumi sits next to him. He smells like citrus and flowers. “It depends on whether or not you want to.”

Shion laughs, the sound trapped midway in his throat. Him, performing with Nezumi, under a spotlight on a stage. _Together_.

“Only if we’re doing Shakespeare,” he hears himself answering. “I think I can do it if it’s that.”

“Shakespeare it is.”

Well, there goes his free time for reading. But passing up a chance like this, he knows he’d regret that.

**.**

They’re sitting on the rooftop at three in the morning, drinking. He’s actually never really drunk all that much, so it went quickly after just a few deep swallows from the bottle. He’s leaned against Nezumi, practically in his lap (technically, just a leg over Nezumi’s lap) and they try to keep their voices low.

“Nezumi…you ever been so drunk, to the point you passed out?”

“No. I don’t drink often.”

“Why today?”

“Well, it’s a shame if a free bottle went to waste.” The wine sloshes as Nezumi swings the bottle. “But I’m quite amazed at you.”

“That I’m already drunk? Yes, yes. I drink even less than you do.” And he didn’t even do it for the taste. This one has a hint of bitterness and sour grapes; maybe he just doesn’t have an appreciation for them.

“Well, it’s also in celebration.”

Since they did end up performing Shakespeare, and it had passed by so fast in a blur he almost can’t believe he had really been up there, with Nezumi. The audience had been barely visible, which helped, but the moments leading up to it had been something, to say the last.

“I’d rather celebrate with something else.”

“Such as?”

“Well, a book.”

“You just want me to read to you more.”

“Have you ever performed drunk?”

“That’s unprofessional.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well, how about this.” Nezumi takes a sip and kisses Shion.

It tastes much better like this, of course.

He nearly says he loves it, loves Nezumi.

But even drunk, he can’t say it.

**.**

Shion calls back home again.

All is well, but he has questions, and…things to discuss.

His mother responds by crying, and he holds the phone so tightly his hand hurts. But she’s happy, so happy, wishes him well, wishes Nezumi well, and tells him to visit once they come back around to No. 6…whenever that would be.

That night, he nearly burns their dinner, drops a dish, and ends up writing late into the night because he can’t sleep.

**.**

Nezumi doesn’t often have nightmares, but when he does, he ends up gripping Shion so that it wakes the both of them up. And they lie there in the dark, clinging to the point of pain.

Sometimes Shion lights a candle, because it helps. Neither of them is afraid of the dark, but it reminds them of what they had to go through.

“I thought it’s supposed to get easier.” He’s not even the one having the nightmare this time, but he remembers all the same—the screams, the smells, the bodies…and the horrible things done to innocent people, Safu included.

“Some things are too ingrained into the psyche to be forgotten.” Nezumi finally releases him; his skin tingles, and he puts his hand over the imprints of fingernails. “The science of trauma, if it can be called that.”

Well, there’s actually more scientific terms for it, but in a way, it is a science about trauma, healing, and the fragility of humans. Outlined in the dark by the glow of a yellow candle, Nezumi looks thinner than he actually is. His scars stand out, just as much as Shion’s do. Shion traces one of them, gently.

“You can go back to sleep,” Nezumi tells him.

“I don’t mind.” This is a common conversation.

Nezumi leans against Shion, and they clasp their hands together, watching the candle burn until it’s light again outside.

**.**

Today, it’s snowing again. They’re trapped inside, but they’ve already stockpiled necessities. Nezumi is dancing again, leading Shion through the room. Circles over circles, swaying to nothing except whatever music is imagined.

He stumbles.

“You’re going to bruise my toes at this rate.”

“Sorry.”

Nezumi lets go of him, drifting away to get some water. Shion pulls at his bangs, and wipes his hands on his sweater.

“I’ve had an odd week,” he starts out, by means of explanation.

“What sort of odd.”

“The kind of odd where you might say I’m overthinking things.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “But there’s a lot. Such as the future.”

“Do you mean after it’s warmer, or do you mean in the sense of the far future? Because if it’s the latter, then save your thoughts.” Nezumi holds out the cup of water.

He gulps it, twice. Throat still dry. “No, no, nothing like that. I don’t know how I’ll see myself in a ten or five years, and not even in a year. Except maybe in one thing.”

“Only one? That’s realistic.” Nezumi isn’t looking at him now, and Shion doesn’t know if this makes it harder or easier.

“See, it’s about you. Or…us.”

“About us? Interesting.”

“You said we were soulmates.”

Nezumi seems as calm as ever. He’s looking at Shion again. “I did.”

“Did you really mean it?”

“I don’t joke about that, or put it lightly. We went through a kind of hell together.”

“Would you do it again, if you had to? Because I would, if it was with you.” No matter how many times he’s tried to imagine this conversation, it never turns out the wy it’s been scripted in his mind. “If I met you any other way, I think we’d still have this connection, wouldn’t we?”

“Are you talking about reincarnation, or something else?”

“If that’s what soulmates mean.”

“Well, if I were to reincarnate, and choose a person to meet over and over…” Nezumi pokes him gently on the nose. “Then yes, it would be you.”

And so the examples go. It could go on forever, with more metaphors, more scenarios.

Shion plunges his hand deep into his pocket. “Nezumi,” he says. “Me too. I—” Curse his emotions. “I would choose you, over and over. In all possible lifetimes. So,” he draws his hand out and turns it palm up. “do you want to make it official?”

It’s one of the few times he truly, really, wholly catches Nezumi off-guard. The kettle whistles, but neither of them pay attention. A wind sharply rattles the windows, they barely glance at it.

Nezumi stares at him, at the ring, and back at him.

His heartbeat is practically in his ears, so loud as he attempts to breathe through it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Nezumi picks the ring up.

Between his fingers, it looks small.

“Shion.” Softly. “If we’re getting married, I hope you actually write out your vows instead of trying to do it by improv.”

Caught between relief and happiness, he nearly collapses. “I was…reading the mood.”

“I’m just critical.” Nezmi squeezes his hand around the ring, his eyes looking almost watery. “You got me pretty good.”

“Did I?”

“I didn’t see it coming. I'm impressed. Really, I eam.”

“Then…it’s a yes?”

Nezumi slips the ring onto his finger. “Does this answer your question?”

Not trusting his voice, he embraces Nezumi, burying his face into a shoulder as he finally relaxes. Nezumi strokes his hair, and they slowly sink to the floor.

The kettle is still whistling.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you said no,” Shion says, eventually. He’s still wrapped up in Nezumi, unwilling to move.

“After all this time, you think I would?”

“Sometimes I still think you’re only tolerating me.”

“Hey, I asked you to come with me." Nezumi nudges his side. "I don’t ask that of anyone else.”

“Maybe you’re just difficult to read.”

“Or I’m just difficult. Haven’t you realised that by now? Inukashi couldn't stand me, and Rikiga tolerated me. People who know me don't really like me. I can be quite annoying.”

“You’re not annoying.”

“Only an idiot in love would say that.”

“Maybe, but what does that make you?”

“Also an idiot, in love.” Nezumi tilts his chin up. “I mean it, Shion. We’ll find each other throughout other lifetimes if we have to.”

“At least we don’t have to look in this one.” They’ve long ago found each other, years ago. And anything beyond that was like fate.

It's not that the way they're living is anything fantastic, but he's with Nezumi, and that's all he wanted.

_**.** _


End file.
